The Unexpectedly Underrated Cake, and Other Dubious Things
by Aliada
Summary: Sherlock has got a cake. A chocolate cake. John is just slightly unsure about it.


"What is it, Sherlock?"

John eyed the strange object suspiciously, slight frown on his face.

"What does it look like to you?"

Sherlock's voice was a little irritated now. John shook his head and narrowed his eyes.

"I know _what_ it is, Sherlock. I mean, _why_ is it here?"

Sherlock smirked at him, and John felt the sudden urge to remind him that he didn't have his coat on. No, that will wait. _For now._

"There is a knife here as well. A clean knife."

John shook his head and touched it. A black handler, sharpened blade, seemingly unused.

Well, Sherlock would have deduced more if he hadn't been so damn busy right now. Busy with what, by the way?

John sighed.

Not that it was new to him, but usually he knew what they were up to. Well, at least he had some ideas.

Now – he had none. And it didn't exactly make him happy.

"Sherlock…"

"Not now, John."

His voice sounded strange. 'You've-got-to-be-kidding-me' kind of strange.

John felt like he would have to start making up new words to define all the kinds of 'suspicious' in his life. He nearly had one for 'danger' already. Not quite, but still.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes tiredly. That was definitely Sherlock's influence – thinking about this sort of stuff… He didn't want to imagine what will come next.

 _Did he?_

John rubbed his eyes once again, a bitterly unpleasant feeling growing in his stomach. He needed some tea right now. Like. Right. Now.

And he won't care whether Sherlock drinks it with him or not.

He won't.

Kettle made small murmuring noises and boiled energetically. Ten more seconds. It was predictable. It was ordinary. And it was calming. Not 'shut-up-and-be-still' kind of calming but still helpful.

'Slow-your-heart-down' calming. 'Hold-your-breath-and-count-to-ten' calming.

And it was indeed calming, and good. Achingly good.

He tended to forget about the battle noises, and now he was reminded. Just quick sharp flashbacks, coated with a subtle, almost indescribable touch of nauseating anticipation.

He tended to forget. But now, he remembered.

The kettle made a final click and got quiet.

John took a tea bag and poured hot, steaming water in his cup. The bag filled with air and floated. John sighed contentedly at the familiar aroma and took a cautious sip.

It was better now. It was _okay._

John took a deep breath and sat in his chair. _Time for round two._

* * *

Sherlock looked at the cake. Black. Creamy. _Eatable._

The last condition is essential. 96 percent essential. Maybe 97. He wasn't sure. Will have to measure it better next time.

John came into the room. Frowned. His eyes widened. His pupils dialed.

 _John._

The layers were thick. Fragile yet thick, with a small touch of dark warm liquid that gave off a subtle, jumpy aroma with partly hidden undertones.

John said something to him but he didn't listen.

He needed to think.

To wait.

Five more minutes.

Sherlock inhaled sharply and told himself not to look at John. _Not to look at John._

An angry huff broke the net of buzzing words in his mind.

The thoughts behind them sparkled wildly and dissipated.

Unordinary. John-ish kind of unordinary.

Not that Sherlock had a lot of those 'kinds', but he named them anyway. Names were good. Names worked.

John put the kettle on.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the annoyingly unattractive page in front of him. Dull.

Definitely, there was something wrong with this sentence. Otherwise, why would he have to re-read it two times already?

A small, hesitant answer pierced through his mind sending jolts of intense, almost shivering confusion.

Sherlock told it to shut up. _And not to look at John_. Not to…

Of course. Just a grammar error. Obvious.

 _Boring._

John was making tea. Milkless tea.

Sherlock swallowed and turned the page.

John sat in his armchair.

Sherlock finished the page and met his eyes.

Yes. There was no mistaking now. There was an expression _. The expression._

* * *

"So…"

John pointed at the cake, impatient look in his eyes.

What was the point of this, he wondered.

Was it some experiment? But if it was Sherlock would tell him right away instead of practicing in eloquent silence. Wouldn't he?

Damn it.

John took a deep breath, gripping his cup harder. The soft surface warmed his fingers, sending small jolts of satisfaction down his spine.

"Sherlock…"

John put a small amount of warning in his voice. Just enough to be persistent, but not enough to irritate.

An irritated Sherlock wasn't easy to deal with, and he didn't want one more argument on his hands.

Sherlock lowered his eyes, clearly uncomfortable.

John took a sip and put his cup down with a quiet thump.

 _That was interesting._

"It's for… an experiment."

John blinked.

Sherlock cleared his throat.

"Sort of."

John blinked one more time.

"Okay, John. These are not exactly appropriate laboratory conditions. But it will do."

Sherlock got up and cut a big piece of the suspicious cake.

 _Cake of discord, more like it,_ said a quiet voice in John's head.

The only one Sherlock didn't yet learn to hear.

 _Or so you think._

Well, _that_ one was mean. John told the voice to shut up.

Meanwhile, Sherlock got him a plate and refreshed his cup.

John took a small bit and started to chew.

Heavy chocolate flavor filled his mouth, watering it.

The expression in Sherlock's eyes made John choke for moment – just a fluent, bright moment of understanding. John's own eyes widened at the sight and he tried to clear his throat.

Two sharp coughs later, he was able to talk – _to think_ – again. Or he believed so.

With Sherlock, It never was for sure.

Sherlock's eyes softened even more if it was possible.

Joyful sparkles got milder not giving up their intensity, though.

Those eyes without intensity? _Impossible._

Their hands touched. John released a tense breath.

"So, an experiment, then?"

 _Uh-huh._

Some new expression crossed the grey eyes. Something unfamiliar. Something he couldn't quite read.

John felt a new wave of irritation. It was really _clever_ of Sherlock to make him that cup of tea. He wasn't usually the one who always needed distractions, but he sure needed one now.

Warm liquid soothed his throat, and John let his eyes close. Fingers under his hand moved slightly. John wanted to capture them. To make them stop,

A stab of lingering sensation in his chest was almost painful.

The movement dimmed and stopped abruptly, leaving a trace of intense, heavy warmth.

John took one more sip.

And then one more.

His throat remained dry, though.

"Okay, John. Let's do it your way."

Sherlock's fingers made a nervous, almost convulsive move.

John's hand let go, clenching on cool, empty air instead.

"The thing is… I made it for you. _That_ , in fact, is the experiment."

John forced himself to forget about the fingers and concentrate.

Yeah. Concentration was something he damn well needed right now.

"For _me_?"

 _The Inner Sherlock_ in John's mind scowled and made a rude comment.

John waved him off impatiently.

"Yes. The experiment. For you. I mean, it's for me, but with you in it as well,"

John frowned.

Well.

 _Okay._

"Are you feeling good, Sherlock?"

"What?"

The genuine surprise on Sherlock's face made John sigh in relief.

So, it _was_ okay after all.

Sherlock cut one more piece stuffing it on John's plate.

There were five of them now. Five neat, measured pieces. John wasn't how precise the measurement was, but he had no desire to check. He had enough on his hands as it was.

And it wasn't okay at all. It just bloody _wasn't_.

"What do you think you are doing?"

"Making you tea?"

Sherlock's voice was a little uncertain, with a hint of irritation, though.

Well, at least, _that_ was something he could work with.

John straightened up a bit.

"If I drink some more tea I'll drown"

Sherlock blinked at him.

"You've only had five cups so far."

John sighed.

"What is the purpose of having more?"

"You don't understand. This needs to be calculated precisely. Otherwise…"

Sherlock's eyes made a brief connection with John's before moving to the spilled water in front of him. Nearly boiling water.

The pain was intense, even more so that Sherlock didn't expect it to happen. Shock made everything worse.

He made a fist taking a sharp, burning breath.

John eyes widened in appeal. Sherlock shook his head making a quiet yet obviously irritated sound.

John was having none of it, though.

"You'll kill yourself one day, you know? With all those insane experiments of yours…"

He examined the hand closely letting out an impatient huff.

"I was being careful." Sherlock said defensively.

Or sulkily – more like it, John thought grimly.

"Of course, you were."

"Now, will you bloody tell me, what was that all about?"

Sherlock winced.

John shook his head in a sharp sympathy and felt his anger melt.

"I wanted to make a perfect cup, John."

Well, that seemed to make sense. Almost.

"And… the cake?"

Sherlock snatched his hand from John's grip and gave him a gloomy glare.

Or more like the 'why-do-I-have-to-explain-everything?' stare.

John shrugged at him and took a sip from a still brewing cup. Tea was definitely underrated. Maybe Sherlock's perfect cup involved a perfect solution to all of this. He could always hope.

"Biscuits, John! What's tea without biscuits?"

John threw a meaningful look on the half-finished cake.

Now, it was Sherlock's turn to shrug.

"Well, those are not exactly biscuits, but..."

Something changed in his expression and he took a big breath. He was looking almost… shy. John really wished he could turn his writer thing off sometimes. Epithets weren't always helpful.

"You didn't like it?"

John sighed tiredly.

"Of course, I liked it. You were good. Not as good as in solving crimes, of course, but pretty much decent."

Sherlock huffed at him.

"Can't have _decent_."

John couldn't help but smile.

"Of course, you can't."

"Now, what would you say if we sat down properly – skipping all that running around – and had a good cup of tea together?"

"You do enjoy running, John."

"Drink you tea, Sherlock."

"So what do you think of it? I need a full report on…"

"It's quite decent."

"Your use of adjectives is admirable, John."

John tried to ignore everything that came after that, but the growing amount of the cake on his plate wasn't really helping matters.

Finally the tea was drunk. The cake was eaten. Faint clinking of spoons mixed with their voices creating a subtle harmony of undertones.

It was neither the beginning, nor the

It was the tea-time.


End file.
